


Of Flint and Steel

by galaxyartist4



Series: To Start a Fire [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Drunk Witchers, Explicit Language, Fluff, Gambling, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Romantic Fluff, Scars, Sexual Tension, Slight Canon Divergence, Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyartist4/pseuds/galaxyartist4
Summary: Eskel returns to Kaer Morhen years after the big battle only to find an unwelcome guest has taken up residence in the keep. Like flint and steel, when the two eventually strike together, sparks fly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a self-indulgent (lowkey slow-burn) fic that I decided to write after finding this pairing on tumblr. Thank you dravenxivuk for helping to keep this ship alive and well :)  
> New chapters will be posted soon.  
> (I only recently joined this fandom so let me know if there are parts of the lore that I missed or messed up accidentally) 
> 
> Enjoy! Leave kudos/comments if you like it

               “You should’ve said no.” Eskel’s low words rang out like a slap to the face, but Letho was completely unfazed.    
               “None of your business,” he replied, voice deep and gravelly.   
               “Wrong!” Lambert snapped, gesturing angrily. “It is his, and mine. Rather not have you behind our backs during the battle.”

               “What is it now?” Geralt merely looked tired as he stepped up to the three, but his eyes flashed as he looked from one man to the next.  
               “Why did you even bring him?” Lambert asked, crossing his arms. Geralt looked surprised by the question, as if he wasn’t really sure himself, then his eyebrows pulled together and he frowned.  
               “I need Letho,” he said, his level gaze directed toward Lambert.  
               “Our opinions count too,” Eskel responded, his expression twisting, pulling the scars on the right side of his face into sharper relief. Geralt moved forward slightly, his expression darkening.  
               “I need anyone who can face the riders of the hunt in battle. Your likes and dislikes? They count for a lot less than that.”  
               “You’re making a mistake,” Lambert said, a note of bleakness edging into the statement. Letho grunted and walked away, and Geralt walked after him. Lambert and Eskel watched them have a brief, quiet conversation, then Geralt walked up the steps and disappeared inside. Lambert snorted in disgust.

               “This is a mistake,” he repeated, shaking his head, then he walked off. Eskel silently agreed as he stood, watching Letho light the small fire next to the wall and sit down. The other man must have felt Eskel’s gaze, because he slowly raised his head. For a moment, Eskel looked into his face, taking note of his sneering mouth, blunt nose, and slit-pupiled eyes, then he turned away and followed Geralt into the keep. The feeling of foreboding chased him inside.

 

* * *

 

               The heat from the pyre made the skin on Eskel’s face feel tight. He grit his teeth and resisted the urge to rub his hands over stinging eyes.  
_‘I can’t come back here,’_ he thought. _‘I don’t think I can face it without him here. Once this is over, I’m leaving.’_ He stared at the raging fire and took one breath, then another. A flurry of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Geralt was moving from person to person, talking so quietly that even with enhanced hearing Eskel didn’t catch a word that was said. He watched as Geralt stopped next to Letho and faced the big man. Eskel frowned. He didn’t believe that one battle, however important, could absolve the man of what he had done, but his feelings had softened very slightly. Geralt had said that the man had possibly saved his neck a few times during the first scuffles.   
               Letho nodded in response to something Geralt had said, and his mouth curved into an almost imperceptible smile. He suddenly looked much less intimidating. Eskel raised his eyebrows in surprise. Suddenly, Letho’s eyes moved from Geralt to Eskel’s face. Eskel looked away quickly, back to the pyre. The sinking knot of his insides jolted again at the sight of the crumbling body in the center of the flames. _‘I can’t come back here,’_ he thought again. _‘I can’t.’  
_

 

* * *

 

               _‘I can’t believe I’ve come back.’_ The sun was setting behind the mountains, casting an orange glow over the tops of the keep’s towers as Eskel looked up at the looming gate of Kaer Morhen. The gate was raised, but he could see that someone had haphazardly patched up the hole that Imlerith had smashed in the wooden latticework during the battle for Ciri. To Eskel, it felt like forever ago. In truth, it had only been three years, but he felt much older than he had then. Vesemir’s death had taken a toll on him and all the others. Even Ciri was sporting a few more lines at the corners of her eyes the last time he’d seen her.  
               Eskel pulled his quilted coat tighter as he sat on his horse, reminiscing for several minutes before he urged the animal forward. As he rode into the outer courtyard he tugged on the reins, pausing to turn and look at the open gate.  
               “I would’ve thought it’d be closed with no one to look after the place,” Eskel murmured. “Strange. Glad I didn’t have to climb the wall though.” He swung out of the saddle, landing lightly on the frosty ground, and pulled his pack off the horse and onto his shoulders. “Go on,” he said, patting his horse’s rump, “I’ll come back out to take care of you in a few minutes.” The well-trained animal headed toward the stables at a trot.  
               Eskel made his way into the next courtyard, but halfway to the next set of doors he stopped, sharpening his senses and staring at the ground. A set of footprints led away from where he stood, headed toward the keep. Large, fresh, human footprints. He stiffened.  
               “Who could possibly…” he muttered, kneeling down to investigate further. The boot prints were made by someone heavy, but someone who was careful with how they placed their feet. The marks left by the soles weren’t particularly distinctive to his eye. He sniffed, picking up the very faint scent of leather, the aroma of herbs, the tang of metal, and the stink of preserved monster parts, all mixed with a waft of unwashed male.  
               “Not a peasant, I think,” Eskel murmured, standing and drawing his steel sword. “Who would come here? It’s not Lambert, he’s still off with Keira. It’s not Geralt, he’s living with Yennefer.” His mouth twisted slightly at the sorceress’s name, but he pushed the irritation away. “Why is there a witcher here?”  
               He followed the footprints through the inner courtyard, straight up to the front doors of the keep, and gripping his sword in his right fist, he reached out with his left hand to push the door open. Just before his fingers touched the wood, the door swung wide, and he jumped back, swinging his sword up while swearing violently.  
               “Who the fuck--” he snapped, then stopped. Yellow, slit-pupiled eyes blinked slowly down at him from the darkness inside the keep.  
               “You walk so loud I thought I was gonna find one of those damn rock trolls on the steps,” a deep, gravelly voice drawled.   
               “What the hell are you doing here?” Eskel asked, trying to calm his racing heart.   
               “I was invited,” the voice growled. Eskel watched with apprehension as a huge man loomed from the darkness. He knew the stubbly, slightly sneering face very well, and he was not pleased to find it here.  
               “Damn it, Geralt.” Eskel sheathed his sword reluctantly and glared up at Letho of Gulet. The man looked amused, if a little surprised.   
               “I wasn’t expecting company,” he drawled, “If I’d known, I woulda tidied up.”   
               “Are you gonna move or what?” Eskel asked, trying to keep his voice level. Letho shrugged disinterestedly and stepped back, allowing Eskel to move into the keep.   
               The inside of the building was only a little more run down than before. It seemed that someone had been doing some maintenance here and there over the years, but there were still a few piles of rubble around the edges of the room. He rubbed the scars on the side of his face, then drew a small jar of bear fat out of his pocket. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he dipped his finger in the stiff grease and smoothed some over the tight, chapped scars. As soon as winter rolled around the scars always started to tighten and pull uncomfortably, so he kept some bear fat on him at all times.   
               It was barely warmer in the keep than it was outside, even though all the braziers were lit. Eskel grunted and walked over to the cots that were lined up against the south side of the keep. Noting that one cot looked recently used, he dropped his bag on the cot farthest away from that one and groaned, stretching his back and arms. Done stretching, he went out to the stable to care for his horse.  
               When he entered the keep once more, he could hear Letho moving around nearby, and he kept his ears trained on every small sound. Walking lightly, he moved a bit farther into the room to get a better look at the other man. It appeared as if the only change to the armor the man had worn during the battle three years previously was quilted sleeves sewn with protective pieces of leather. The sleeves were pulled up to show bare, veiny forearms as thick as small tree trunks. Letho paused in the middle of pulling on a pair of worn leather gloves and looked up at Eskel.   
               “Going out,” he grunted. “Ain’t much food around, gotta rustle some up.” Eskel caught a glimpse of a gold ring in the man’s right earlobe as he swung around and walked toward the door. Shrugging, Eskel dug in his pack for some dried fruit and meat strips. Gnawing on the jerky, he wandered into the kitchen. He stood in the middle of the smaller room and turned in circles, heightening his senses. Something in a cupboard nearby tickled his mind, and he walked over, inspecting the source of the feeling. It came from an extremely dusty bottle hiding in the back of the cabinet. Eskel pulled it out and dusted it off, looking for a label. Stuck to the bottom of the bottle, written on a scrap of old, yellowed paper, were the words: _Vesemir’s recipe, batch 12, almost perfect._ Eskel swallowed, throat scraping painfully. Hands shaking, he popped the old cork and sniffed the contents. A rough, stinging smell burned into his nostrils and he snorted, shoving the cork back into the bottle, then he grabbed two small cups and walked back to the table near to the cots.  
               The bench creaked under him as he sat down, placing the shot glasses down on the table. He sloppily poured a shot of the clear liquor into each of the small cups, pushed one a little way across the table, then picked the other up and toasted the empty air.  
               “For you, old man. You’re missed.” He drained the cup.

  
               An hour later, full dark had fallen outside the window, and Eskel was gently passing out on the table, the unmarred side of his face pressed into the rough grain of the wood. His head was swirling so violently that he couldn’t move, but his hand was still clamped on the small cup.   
               “Old bastard must’ve spiked the booze with White Gull,” he slurred. He jumped a little and tried to raise his head when the front doors creaked open and a hulking, misshapen shadow walked inside.   
               “Just me,” a voice growled.  
               “Ugh,” Eskel said, dropping his head back onto the table. Letho went to the kitchen to hang up his deer and returned, smelling slightly worse than before.  
               “Don’t touch that shot,” Eskel snarled, managing to raise his head up to glare in Letho’s general direction.  
               “Won’t,” Letho grunted, shrugging his broad shoulders, “Was just curious.” Eskel dropped his head onto the table again and groaned.  
               “If you want some, just find a different cup. Or use this one,” he slurred, pushing the empty cup away from himself. He heard the movement of leather and cloth as Letho took the cup, wiped the rim, and poured a shot from the half-empty bottle. Eskel giggled suddenly, remembering one night he’d spent in this very keep.  
               “Last time I got drunk here,” he slurred, “Lambert said I had an hourglass figure.” He snorted with laughter, remembering the sight of Lambert in one of Yennefer’s dresses and a stupid hat. Letho took the shot, popped the cork back into the bottle, and grunted.  
               “Sounds like a good time,” he said, then walked back into the kitchen, presumably to process the deer. Eskel subsided into quiet fits of giggles, then eventually slipped into nothingness.

  
               The next morning, Eskel woke to the worst hangover he’d had in months. He kept his eyes closed tight and tried to orient himself. He was lying on his side in a cot. He was fully clothed, on top of the fur blankets, and his arm was stuck underneath him. Gritting his teeth, he started to sit up, but his head pounded so badly that he slumped back onto the cot.  
               “Fuck,” he grunted, and pushed himself up. For a minute, his vision went dark, then it cleared. He bent over and stuck his functioning hand into his pack, digging around for his potions. A minute later he pulled out a jar of viscous, purple liquid, then a vial of bright blue liquid, and finally a jar of green liquid before he found the potion he was looking for.  
               “Lucky break,” he muttered, then downed the white goop out of a small jar. He felt a bit better. Swinging his tingling arm to wake it up, he stood and stretched. His stomach rumbled loudly, so he wandered toward the kitchen. When he entered the room, he saw Letho sitting at the table, cutting strips off a hunk of meat. The big man looked up at the sound of footsteps, his mouth twisting wryly.  
               “Mornin’,” he grunted. Eskel nodded, wondering what to do for breakfast. “There’s venison, if you want some,” Letho said, gesturing vaguely to the deer carcass. “Won’t go bad if it stays cold enough.” He dropped the slices of meat he had cut into a bowl of dark sauce.   
               “Thanks,” Eskel responded warily.   
               “S’not poisoned,” Letho drawled. “I gotta eat too.” Eskel snorted and picked up a fresh cut of meat off a plate, sniffing it.   
               “Forgive me for being paranoid, Kingslayer,” he retorted irritably, then began hunting for a pan.   
               “Pan’s by the fire,” Letho rumbled, seemly unaffected by the use of his well-earned nickname, and gestured toward another counter. “Spices and stuff are over there.” Eskel found the pan and began to cook his venison.   
               “It’s too early in the morning for spices,” Eskel said.  
               “Never too early for spices,” Letho responded slowly. Eskel shot him a suspicious look, then decided to ignore the comment.  
               “Salt?” he asked. Letho tossed a jar to him and continued to slice pieces off the hunk of venison. Eskel salted his breakfast and tipped it onto a clean dish. Cutting it into a few large pieces, he stuck one of the pieces with a knife and took a bite. He watched as Letho put more slices into the bowl.  
               “Making jerky?” he asked through a mouthful.  
               “Yup,” Letho grunted.  
_‘Why am I even trying to make conversation with him,’_ Eskel thought. He finished his breakfast and left the kitchen, trying to remember where he could find materials and tools for repairs.

 

               Eskel returned to the keep several hours later, hungry and covered in dust. The door creaked when he pushed it open, he took a few steps inside, and the smell of cooking meat and spices hit his nose like a hammer. His stomach rumbled loudly. Wondering what the state of the pantry was, he headed toward the kitchen.  
               Letho had vanished while he was outside. The kitchen was the source of the delicious smells wafting through the air, and Eskel could see a glow in the oven.  
_‘Damn,’_ he thought. _‘Nothing like good jerky.’_ He stood for a moment and inhaled deeply, then moved toward the pantry. The small room smelled a little musty, but Eskel could see wheels of cheese, some unlabeled crates, and strings of dried vegetables. He grabbed a cheese wheel and walked out, closing the door behind him.  
               Letho was standing in front of the oven, illuminated by the fiery glow. He was in the middle of pulling a steel sheet covered in dried meat out of the oven and didn’t even pause when he saw Eskel emerge from the pantry. Ignoring him, Eskel sat down at the table and cut a large wedge from the cheese. He had barely taken a bite when Letho sat down across from him. Not wanting to be too rude, Eskel pushed the wheel toward the other man. He nodded and cut a piece for himself.  
               “Why’re you here?” he asked. Eskel chewed and swallowed.  
               “I dunno,” he replied, taking another bite, “I thought I might do some repairs in the old man’s memory. This place is pretty depressingly run down already, but I guess it’s the thought that counts.”  
               “Huh,” Letho grunted, and cut another piece of cheese from the wheel. “You talked a lot about that goat last night,” he said. Eskel nearly choked.  
               “I did what?” he asked between coughs.  
               “The goat,” Letho said, the shadow of a smile pulling at his mouth. “You seem pretty dedicated to it.”  
               “I mean, I guess so. I raised her,” Eskel said, thinking of the goat he had left with a good friend for the winter. “We did use her to bait a forktail once though, and she didn’t like that much.”  
               Letho chuckled darkly. Eskel stared at him, unnerved.   
               “How did I get into my cot last night?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. Letho chuckled again.  
               “You flailed around like a scared drowner for a while until you tripped and fell into it,” he replied. Eskel snorted into his cheese. Finishing his meal, Eskel stood, stifling a yawn. Letho followed his movements with snake-like eyes, still chewing thoughtfully.  
               “Back to work,” Eskel muttered to himself, and left the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

               Two weeks later, Eskel sat at the table in the kitchen, staring moodily into a cup of vodka. He sneezed, then downed the shot and slammed the cup onto the table.  
               “Shouldn’t we be immune to colds?” he complained, digging in his pockets for a handkerchief. “With all the mutations and shit. I mean we can’t catch any other diseases.”  
               “Ain’t no cure for the common cold,” Letho drawled. “I once met a cave troll that had a cold. Was a mean motherfucker, too.” Eskel groaned loudly and poured himself more vodka. He had discovered a large stash of the brew in one of the upstairs rooms a few days before. It was Lambert’s recipe this time and it was almost as good as Vesemir’s old stuff. Almost.  
               “Gonna burn it out,” he said, and coughed. Letho shrugged.  
               “You could do worse things,” he replied.  
               “Like what?” Eskel’s voice rasped in his throat and he coughed again. Letho scratched his chin.  
               “Like pick a fist fight with a fiend wearing nothin’ but a loincloth made of meat,” Letho said. He scooped up a knife and started cleaning under his nails. Eskel stared at him.  
               “That’s awfully specific. You know from personal experience?” he asked. Letho smirked.  
               “No, but I saw it happen once. Heard a bunch of drunk idiots in a tavern talking about how their mate set out to best a fiend. Thought it sounded interesting, so I tracked the guy down. Followed his footprints, the smell of raw meat, and the stink of cheap booze.” He took a swig from his mug and continued. “Got up into the mountains a bit and arrived just in time to see the fiend get him. I’ve never seen a man fly so high,” he said, chuckling heartily. Eskel wasn’t sure if he should be amused or uncomfortable. He settled for taking another shot. Letho saw his expression and rolled his eyes.  
               “Don’t look like that. How much sense can you talk into a drunk peasant anyway?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Plus, I don’t think I woulda stopped him if I could. Was the funniest thing I’d seen in years.” Eskel imagined the scene, and still wasn’t sure if he’d find it amusing. Maybe he would, he didn’t know. He sneezed again.  
               “Keep that shit over there,” Letho drawled. Eskel saw the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and he scowled.   
               “Oh, fuck off,” he said, and stood tipsily. “I’ll sneeze on you if you don’t stop being an ass.” The sound of Letho’s chuckles echoed after him as he wove his way toward his cot. 

  
               The next morning, Eskel wandered into the kitchen. Letho had disappeared again, but a delicious smell was wafting from a large pot over the fire. Eskel pulled the fur around his shoulders a bit tighter and wobbled over to peer blearily into the cauldron’s depths. He saw pieces of venison, herbs, onions, and some other vegetables floating in a steaming, fragrant broth.  
               “Who knew the monster could cook?” Eskel muttered to himself, sniffling irritably. He dug for a handkerchief and blew his nose with a forlorn honk. Stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket, he stood and stared into the soup for several seconds, considering the food. _‘He could’ve poisoned me several times already if he’d wanted to, he’s had plenty of chances.’_  
               “Fuck it,” Eskel said, then he turned to the side and stifled yet another sneeze. He sniffed and looked around to find a clean bowl and spoon sitting on the counter. “He’s definitely trying to poison me,” Eskel groaned. “Oh well, I think I have some enhanced Golden Oriole in my pack if it comes down to that.”   
               The soup was delicious. Eskel dove into his bowl with enthusiasm, enjoying the marvelously seasoned broth that warmed him to the tips of his toes. The last few vegetables Eskel had brought with him had vanished by the end of the first week of his visit, so he wasn’t sure where Letho had found anything fresh. He was finished before he knew it and got up for seconds. After he was done with his second bowl, he could barely keep his eyes open. _‘Have I been drugged?’_ he thought, then sneezed yet again. _‘At this point, how much do I care?’_ He stumbled his way back into the main hall and flopped onto his cot. Sleep took him instantly.

  
               The sound of boots padding on the stone floor woke Eskel several hours later. His eyes popped open and he sat up.   
               “Well, I’m not dead,” he announced, looking at his hands.  
               “I told you it’s not poisoned.” He jumped as Letho’s voice sounded from very close behind him. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”  
               “That’s comforting,” Eskel muttered.   
               “Should be,” Letho responded. Eskel twisted around to find the man standing only a few feet away from him, staring down with yellow, slit-pupiled eyes. The golden hoop in his right earlobe glittered against the dead deer draped over his broad shoulders; the effect made him look even more menacing than usual.  
               “Do you think I’m the kind of guy who uses poison to get shit done?” he growled. “For the last time, I’m not trying to poison you.” Eskel grimaced, and Letho turned away. “Serves me right for trying to do something nice for once.” The words were so quiet that Eskel thought he was imagining things. He shook his head and stood up.  
               “Thanks,” he said to the retreating back. Letho stopped and half-turned, his single visible eye practically glowing in the darkness.  
               “…You’re welcome.”

  
               The days seemed to speed by. Feeling better after his cold, Eskel worked on cleaning and repairing the keep and fixing the outer wall as best he could. He spent the evenings eating, drinking, and occasionally making conversation with Letho. The big man didn’t talk a lot, but he told some stories that made Eskel laugh until his ribs ached and he couldn’t breathe. Each day, Eskel could feel his opinion toward the man changing gradually, and he couldn’t quite understand the change. _‘It’s like he’s actually decent,’_ Eskel thought, nursing a mug of beer and watching as Letho sharpened his steel sword, whistling through his teeth. _‘We all kill for money, it’s just part of being a witcher. But witchers don’t take contracts on humans, and regicide? I just---’_  
               “Wanna hear how I got this sword?” Letho asked suddenly, looking up. There was a twinkle in his deep-set eyes that promised a rowdy story.  
               “Uh, I dunno, do I?” Eskel said distractedly, trying to ignore a small jump in his gut.   
               “Probably not,” Letho said with a dry chuckle. “It’s a pretty bloody tale.” Eskel snorted loudly.   
               “You think I can’t handle blood? How do you think I do my job?” he said.  
               “Fair enough,” Letho replied. “Well, several years ago I was starting a low-profile contract in the south of Ard Skellig…”

  
               “I’m heading out tomorrow morning.” Eskel said, pulling his steel sword out of its sheath and casting a careful eye over its edge. It had been a few months since he had arrived, and he was itching to move on. “I gotta get back out on the road, and I’m done with all the repairs I can manage for the time being.”  
               “Alright,” Letho’s voice floated out of the kitchen. “Take some jerky with you.”  
               “Right, thanks,” Eskel replied, digging for his whetstones. “Leave the booze alone, will you? If Lambert comes back and finds his whole stash gone he’ll be pissed.” Considering how unlikely the event of Lambert’s return to Kaer Morhen was, Eskel knew it wouldn’t be a problem. _‘If I come back I’ll want booze,’_ he thought, then he paused to think. _‘Will I come back?’_ He shook himself and returned to sharpening his blade.   
               “You think I didn’t bring my own shit to drink?” Letho drawled from inside the kitchen. “Dumbass.”  
               Eskel didn’t want to admit it, but as he rode under the gate and out into the weak, chilly sunshine early the next morning, his subconscious knew that something would draw him back to the place. Something other than the memory of his old, beloved teacher.

* * *

  
               Eskel wasn’t exactly sure what the date was, but he thought he recognized the music being played somewhere nearby. The wreaths of flowers hanging on the doorframes of houses and stores further confirmed his suspicions. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eskel sighed, and wandered toward the music. The air was warm and surprisingly sweet-smelling as he walked down the streets. He could see smoke and sparks rising gently upward from the center of the city. More and more people crowded into the streets the closer Eskel got to the source of the sparks, and he found himself buffeted back and forth between drunken city goers. A tipsy woman haphazardly tossed a crown of flowers onto his head.  
               “Belleteyn, it’s gotta be,” Eskel muttered, absently adjusting the flowers and pushing his way between two boisterously drunk peasant men. When he approached the entrance to a shop, someone thrust a mug of beer into his hand. He looked up to see a pretty woman wink at him and turn to hand the next pint to a man who was jostling his way to the front of the queue. Eskel blushed and let himself be pushed away from the door. The beer was pretty good, and he did his best to drink it before anyone could elbow it out of his hand. Suddenly the empty tankard was whisked from his grip, tossed into the crowd, and Eskel found himself being spun in dizzying circles by a huge, hairy man with flowers in his beard. The man dipped him once, gave his hand a whiskery kiss, then let him go with a flourish, laughing uproariously. Eskel shook his head, grinning good-naturedly as he wove his way toward a quiet corner of the square to watch the bonfire die down. He leaned precariously against the wall of the building and tapped his foot to the music.  
               “Welcome to Gulet, stranger. Enjoying the night?” a voice asked from beside him. He looked down into the dancing brown eyes of the woman who had been handing out pints. She smiled and pushed another tankard into his fingers.  
               “Yeah, I guess so,” Eskel replied, feeling a flush creep up his neck. He rubbed unconsciously at the scars on his face, and Lambert’s voice suddenly echoed in his mind. _‘Oh, I’ll pour, Eskel, I’ll pour. To the brim. ‘Cause without vodka, you’re as stiff as a bookkeeper in a body cast.’_ He drank some beer.  
               “I love Belleteyn,” the woman sighed, watching the bonfire throw off a shower of sparks. “It’s such a lovely festival. Do you have anyone to celebrate with?” she asked abruptly. Eskel blinked. For a moment, all he could imagine was a familiar grim, thick-jawed man in a flower crown. He took another long drink from his tankard.  
               “No,” he said, smiling wryly. The woman looked up at him.  
               “I don’t suppose you’d be looking for someone to celebrate the night with? Just casually?” she enquired. He stared down at her.  
               “You do know what I am,” he said, raising his eyebrows. She pouted playfully.  
               “Of course. Cat-like eyes, two swords, mysterious demeanor…” she took his hand, “…Scarred fingers.” Reaching up, she placed her fingertips on his chest. “Do you have scars here too?” she asked. Eskel tipped his tankard up and downed the rest of the beer.  
               “You’re a bold wench,” he said, grinning crookedly. “My face doesn’t bother you?” The woman shook her head.  
               “Not at all, witcher. C’mon, there’s no point in waiting our turn to jump over the embers,” she laughed, pulling him away from the building and through the crowd. As they passed a group of revelers, Eskel turned slightly and caught a brief glimpse of a tall, muscled peasant man with a thick jaw and deep-set eyes. The image of Letho crowned in flowers rose in his mind again, and he chuckled. _‘What would Lambert think of me now?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon Letho as being a really good cook, I feel like it's the kind of thing he would be good at but not be able to do very often, since food on the road is probably pretty rough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for blood, language, and some emotions ;)

               A gentle snow fell on the road, sparkling faintly in the dim light. Eskel’s fingers clenched tight on the reins as he approached Kaer Morhen’s front gate. It barely even registered to him that the gate was up. His head was spinning and pounding at the same time, his vision blurred. Spooked by the scent of blood, his horse whickered nervously and slowed down halfway across the outer courtyard. Eskel tried to dismount and slipped, hitting the snowy ground with a thud. The pain made him gasp and retch and he cursed himself again for forgetting to restock his potions.  
               “Letho?” he called weakly. “Letho?... Fuck.” He fumbled, trying to press his hands against the heavily bleeding gashes in his arm and side at the same time. _‘How did I let this happen?’_ he thought. _‘If he’s not here this might be it for me.’_ He could feel blood pooling between his fingers. “Letho, are you here?” he called again, voice raspy and pathetically quiet.  
               “Who wants to know?” A deep growl asked from behind him. Eskel couldn’t move from his slumped position sitting on the ground, but he almost laughed.  
               “Me, you fuck,” he wheezed. He heard footsteps move toward him and stop a few feet away.  
               “What are you doing here?” Letho asked. Eskel tried to roll his eyes and blacked out for a second. His breath came in gasps, forming white clouds in the freezing air.  
               “Currently?” he whispered, attempting a sarcastic tone. “I think I’m dying. You?”  
               Letho stepped around him and dropped to one knee, then tried to pry his fingers away from the wounds to assess the damage.  
               “Potions?” Letho asked, sounding almost worried.   
               “Out,” Eskel whispered.  
               “Stupid.” The big man rummaged in his pockets and brought out a small bottle. “Here, and don’t say I never did nothing for you.” Letho’s voice was rough but almost soothing as he lifted the bottle to Eskel’s lips, and Eskel drank the foul liquid without hesitation. He could feel the potion begin to work immediately. The bleeding around his fingers slowed to a crawl, then stopped.  
               “Thanks,” Eskel rasped. Letho stared down at him for a moment, then muscles bunched under his quilted sleeves.  
               “Hup,” he grunted, scooping the other man up off the ground with a sudden, sweeping motion.  
               “Put me down, asshole,” Eskel groaned, trying hard to sound angry. The pain had dulled, but the movement sent waves of nausea into his throat.  
               “I don’t need a corpse in the yard. Ghouls are fun and all, but I’d rather not have them here,” Letho said, the words rumbling deep in his chest. Eskel grinned feebly. The last thing he saw was the underside of a thick, stubbly jaw and a glitter of gold, and then all went dark.

  
  
               Eskel woke to a fierce headache and an aching body. He was buried under several large, heavy furs that smelled strongly of bear musk. Blowing a tuft of fur out of his face, he tried to look around, and saw his jacket, winter armor, and undershirt draped over a chair near his bed. All the garments were stiff with dried blood.  
               _‘Does that mean—’_ Eskel thought, then he realized he could feel fur against the bare skin of his chest. Heat began to climb up his neck. The furs shifted slightly as he squirmed, trying valiantly to get out from underneath them and failing. Finally, with immense effort, he pushed the furs off and sat up. A dull pain throbbed in his side and he winced, clapping a hand to his ribs. His fingers met rough bandaging.  
               “What?” he muttered thickly, trying to remember what happened. After a moment’s thought, he looked down and was glad to see that he was still wearing pants.  
               “So, you’re not dead,” Letho said, striding out of the kitchen. “You looked like you were.” Eskel frowned at him, then gestured to the bandages.  
               “Did you do this?” he asked. Letho’s yellow, slit-pupiled eyes moved deliberately up and down Eskel’s scarred torso.  
               “Yup.” Eskel stared at him, nonplussed.   
               “Why?”  
               “Would you rather I’d left you with all that shit on, so your shirt could stick to the wounds as the blood dried?” Letho growled, brows furrowing dangerously. “You’re lucky enough that the cuts are clean and not as deep as they could be.” Eskel thought about ripping cloth away from freshly scabbed wounds and grimaced.  
               “No, I wouldn’t,” he said, rubbing his face tiredly, “It’s just that… you have no reason to help me.”  
               “Yeah, so what?” Letho asked. Eskel looked up at him. The scarred, shadowy face was unreadable.   
               “I, uh, I dunno,” Eskel said, confused. The big man shrugged and offered him a vial of bright orange liquid.  
               “Swallow,” Letho grunted. Eskel reluctantly took the bottle and scowled at the brilliantly colored goop, trying to ignore the pun.  
               “Yes sir, right away sir,” he muttered, and drank the potion. He was too busy making a disgusted face to see the corner of Letho’s mouth twitch as the man turned away. A moment later, Eskel stood precariously, wrapped a fur around his bare shoulders, and followed Letho into the kitchen.  
               “I guess I owe you,” he said, sitting down at the table. Letho swiveled around to look at him for a long minute.  
               “Nah,” he said, turning back to the counter.  
               “Bullshit,” Eskel replied levelly. “You’ve basically saved my life. The least I can do is make you some potions to replace the ones you gave me. I think I remember where I can find the right potion ingredients. I saw some in a crate upstairs.”   
               “Alright,” Letho drawled. “If you insist. Food?”   
               “Sure, thanks. And thanks for helping me out, really. I don’t forget when someone’s done something for me.” Eskel said, absently allowing his eyes to wander over Letho’s broad back. The big man shrugged and brought two bowls of soup to the table. Eskel put a spoonful in his mouth and almost moaned.  
               “I’d forgotten how fucking _good_ this soup is,” he said, mouth full.   
               “Seasoning,” Letho said, taking a bite himself. Eskel paused between spoonfuls and scrutinized the bigger man.  
               “I never would’ve thought you’d be a spices-and-herbs kind of guy,” he said. Letho raised an eyebrow and met his gaze.  
               “You thought I’d be the ripping-raw-meat-off-the-bone kinda guy,” he replied, yellow eyes amused. Eskel shrugged. The big man chuckled, lifted his bowl up to his mouth, and Eskel watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, feeling a small jump in his stomach. Letho put the bowl down and burped loudly, then smirked at Eskel’s expression.  
               “I don’t scoff at fresh meat if I’m in a pinch,” he said. “Sometimes you gotta eat. But if I have spices, I might as well use ‘em.” He grunted and stood, gesturing to Eskel’s empty bowl. “Want more?” Eskel pushed himself off the bench, stifling a groan, and picked up his bowl.  
               “Stop being so nice, you’re gonna freak me out,” he said, smiling crookedly as he walked over to the fire. Letho shrugged and handed him the ladle.  
               “‘M not being nice, I’m being decent,” Letho grunted. Eskel filled his bowl, sat down, and dove into his food. Letho dropped onto the other bench a few seconds later.  
               “Well, thanks,” Eskel mumbled, mouth full of soup again.  
               “Mhm.” Letho chewed for a moment, then swallowed. “So, how’d you end up like that anyway?” Eskel looked down at the bandages wrapped around his ribs.  
               “Would you believe I got caught off guard by some foglets?” Letho frowned, his hooded eyes flashing.   
               “Foglets? Here?” he asked. Eskel nodded.  
               “Down by the river. It was getting a little dark and I’d stopped to water my horse when they jumped me out of nowhere. There wasn’t even much fog, it was just snowing a little. The first one got me on the arm, and when I reached up to get my sword one of the others got me on the side.”  
               “Did you manage to finish them off?”   
               “I tried, but I was losing a lot of blood. I know I killed one of them, but I think I only wounded the others.”  
               “Sloppy,” Letho said, half smiling. He finished his food and got up. “Stay here. I thought I’d already gotten rid of all the beasties in the area.”  
               “I’m not gonna break,” Eskel said irritably, then grimaced as his ribs twinged. “Scratch that, I’m definitely a little breakable right now. I think I’ll get some rest.”

  
  
               Eskel opened his eyes to blackness. He sat up with a low groan, rubbing his face and squinting around. A pale beam of moonlight shone through one of the windows, illuminating the dusty air.  
               _‘It’s freezing in here. More than usual at least,’_ Eskel thought, shivering and rubbing his bare arms. The braziers had all gone out sometime in the night, and he hadn’t managed to find a shirt to wear the night before. Scowling sleepily, he walked to the middle of the room and took a deep breath, then drew from the well inside him and let the magic run down his right arm, splitting between each of his fingers. A flinging motion cast the small flames into each of the braziers along one wall. He yawned, turned to light more braziers, and found Letho standing right behind him.  
               Eskel yelped, stumbled backwards, and tripped over a stray crate, landing hard.  
               “Do you ever make noise?” he complained. Letho looked down at him, expression unreadable.  
               “You're out of practice,” the big man grunted, offering a large, thick-knuckled hand. Eskel glared up at him, then accepted the offer. Letho pulled him to his feet.  
               “I’m not out of practice, I’ve just been a bit distracted lately. I also just woke up.” Eskel rubbed his sore butt cheeks and flicked the igni sign at the rest of the smoldering braziers, then focused on Letho properly.   
               The light from the fires cast dark shadows over Letho’s face and illuminated the smooth stripes of scar tissue on his bare chest and stomach. Blue veins traced their way under the pale skin of the man’s thick biceps and forearms and snaked under his waistband. His eyes glittered, pupils wide in the darkness.  
               “Impressive. Where’d you learn how to use signs like that?” Letho asked.  
               Eskel gulped, feeling heat rise into his face. _‘So THAT’S why I’ve been a bit distracted for the past few days,’_ he thought wildly. Letho leaned forward, frowning, and the hoop in his ear caught the light.  
               “You’re sweating,” he murmured. Eskel flinched as the other man reached out to press the back of his hand to Eskel’s forehead.  
               “I’m fine,” Eskel said, avoiding Letho’s gaze. “Just tired. And cold. I only got up to light the braziers. Why do you even care?”   
               Thick, callused fingers grasped him under the chin, gently pulling his face upwards, and Eskel found himself nearly nose to nose with Letho. The big man frowned vaguely while he turned Eskel’s face side to side. Eskel could feel his ears burning, but he was too surprised to protest. Letho released Eskel’s chin and hesitantly cupped his unmarred cheek in a callused palm, and even through his surprise and embarrassment Eskel was shocked by the warmth of the other man’s skin.  
               After a long, tense moment, Letho dropped his hand and shrugged.  
               “Dunno,” he grunted, then turned and walked back to his cot. Eskel stood as if frozen, staring after him. Tentatively, he reached up and rubbed his cheek, where he could still feel the ghost of Letho’s touch.  
               _‘What the hell was that?’_ he thought, wandering back over to his own cot. _‘And why do I suddenly feel like I’ve been trampled by a chort?’_

 _  
_  
               Eskel felt fine the next morning, if a little befuddled. His first order of business was to find a shirt or two and eat breakfast. Letho had vanished once again, so instead of thinking about what had happened hours earlier, Eskel got to work. He dug around in the chest at the foot of his cot, however it yielded nothing but a pair of very small, very feminine pants. Amused, he dropped the pants back in the chest and moved on to the trunk at the foot of the cot next to his. It yielded much more promising results. Eskel found two shirts and a coat that fit him, and he dressed gratefully. The garments must have once belonged to Geralt, but they had been long since forgotten.   
               After breakfast, Eskel busied himself with making replacement potions for himself and Letho. He had been making the witcher potions for so many years that the formulae he needed rose to his mind instantly, and he set out to locate the necessary ingredients.  
               “I hope I can find everything— ah,” he sighed, having just opened a box full of potion supplies he had discovered in one of the loft areas. He carried the box down the wooden stairs, spread everything out on a table, and began to prepare the first brew.  
               A while later, Eskel sat back with a satisfied smile. A row of sturdy little bottles and jars sat in front of him, filled with potions of a myriad of different colors and consistencies. He pushed two aside and gathered up the rest to stow safely in his pack. When he was done with that, he grabbed his steel sword and walked outside.  
               Letho’s comment about being out of practice irked Eskel. Finding his favorite spot, he stretched thoroughly, then began a set of sword exercises. It had been a week or two since he had done the drills, but his muscles knew exactly what to do from decades of hard practice and use. He spun and chopped, moving deftly across the uneven, frozen ground, finding a sort of peace in the mindless motions. Breathing slowly and steadily, he increased his pace until his blade was a flashing steel blur in the freezing air. The drill ended with a complex striking pattern and a final block, then Eskel sheathed his sword. His ribs and arm seemed to have healed well, barely protesting the exercise.  
               ‘ _I might as well follow this through,’_ Eskel thought, stretching again. With a deep sigh, he started to jog along the path through and around the courtyards that he and the other wolf school boys had used when training. By the third lap he was a little out of breath. _‘Maybe Letho is right,’_ he thought, _‘Maybe I am a little out of practice. I have been doing a lot of riding lately, and not much running.’_ He hauled himself up onto a wooden platform and kept moving. _‘That doesn’t explain why Letho was able to surprise me like that. I guess I’m less guarded when I’m in a place I’m comfortable, and when someone I know is with me. How well do I know him though? Should I trust him? He’s been kind to me, and he did save my life. …I think I do trust him, but could there possibly be something more than just that?’_  The image of Letho half-naked, illuminated by firelight appeared in his mind and he nearly tripped. _‘I don’t want to think about it.’_ A minute later he stopped in front of the keep to rest.  
               “Not too shabby,” Eskel wheezed. “I can still run ten laps of that loop without stopping.” After a final stretch, he decided to take care of his bloodied garments.

               It took a few tries to break the ice in the well. Hauling up buckets of freezing water, he hummed to himself in a distracted sort of way, remembering how often he had been the one to collect water when Lambert and Geralt had been too busy arguing over the chore to do anything else. He brought the water inside and poured it into a large basin he had found, then went to the kitchen to retrieve a bowl of boiling water from the cauldron hanging over the fire. The chunks of ice in the basin melted when he poured in the hot water. After two more bowls, he stuck his finger in to test the temperature. The water was cool, not too hot or too cold. Eskel fetched his garments and arranged them so the bloody holes in the fabric of the shirt and coat were submerged in the water, then left them to soak. His armor was another problem. He had been wearing comfortable, practical traveling armor made mostly of thick, hardened leather when the foglets attacked, but they had managed to slice through the plates over his ribs and upper arm. Grumbling, he scrubbed the worst of the dried blood from the leather with a slightly damp cloth, then got a leather awl and thick thread from his travel repair kit.  
               Letho entered the keep just as Eskel was setting the final stitches on the rib patch. He walked over, picking a cobweb off his arm, and paused to investigate Eskel’s project.   
               “Neat stitching,” he commented. “I never was good at sewing.” Eskel looked up at him and promptly flushed, remembering the gentle touch of his callused fingers and the warmth of his skin.   
               “Thanks,” he said, looking back down at his work. “I don’t mind it, and it’s gotta be done.” Letho nodded. He paused for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to change his mind. Eskel watched as he retreated to the kitchen. _‘He gets less intimidating and more awkward the longer I’m around him,’_ Eskel thought, returning to his armor. _‘It’s almost… sweet.’_ The events of the previous night played through his mind, causing heat the bloom across his cheekbones. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched him in such a harmless yet intimate way. There had also been something in Letho’s gaze, half hidden in shadow, that had rattled him. He couldn’t figure out what it was that had unsettled him so much, not matter how long he thought about it.  
               The second patch was finished before he realized that his hands had been moving while he thought. He set down his work and went back to the basin where his shirt and coat were still soaking. Sighing, he began to scrub the garments clean.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for typical witcher-esque monster fighting and a bit of gore
> 
> and more feelings, of course

  
               Several weeks passed without trouble. Eskel did his running and sword fighting exercises each morning and worked on repairs inside and outside the keep in the afternoons. He and Letho spent the evenings in companionable silence, though Eskel caught the man looking at him strangely a few times. He tried to ignore the odd glances as best he could, but sometimes he would lie awake in his cot at night and stare into the darkness, valiantly attempting not to think about the way Letho’s rough palm had felt against his cheek, or the way the man’s yellow eyes glowed when he recounted a particularly exciting contract. Eskel slept badly, unease and fleeting dreams making him shift and roll over late into the night.  


  
               One morning, Eskel was sleepily eating his breakfast when Letho walked into the kitchen. The big man was dressed in armor and wearing his steel and silver swords. The two short blades he favored were strapped to his chest.  
               “A tribe of nekkers have set up camp in an area just north of the lake,” he said, watching Eskel take another bite of his meal. “I don’t suppose you’d wanna help me get rid of them.” Eskel finished the last few mouthfuls of his food and stood.  
               “Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you by the front gate,” he said, dropping his plate into a bowl of wash water. Letho nodded and left.  
               Eskel tugged on his warm, sturdy winter armor, then pulled on his boots. He pocketed a few potions and rubbed some bear grease into the scars on his face. Lastly, he strapped his swords to his back.  
               Letho was leaning against the wall next to the front gate, squinting up at the sky. Eskel paused to tighten a strap on his armor, then the two set out along the road.  
               “Don’t see no reason to ride,” Letho said as they jogged along. “I’ve done most of my exploring around here on foot anyway.” Eskel didn’t respond. He was lost in memories of running along the same road with Lambert and Geralt just ahead of him. They had raced each other many times, as boys and then as adults, usually going to the lake to fish or kill some drowners. Eskel had almost always let one of the other two win, as he didn’t much care for competition or for the griping he would hear if he managed to beat them.  
               Once he and Letho reached the northern end of the lake, they stopped. Without even sharpening his senses, Eskel could see and smell evidence of nekkers in the area. Tracks covered the snowy ground, and they found a frozen deer carcass that had been ripped to shreds. He could also feel his medallion begin to hum gently. The two men wordlessly unsheathed their silver swords and followed the tracks to a small cave entrance. They ducked down to peer inside.  
               “I’m not crawling in there,” Eskel said.  
               “Me neither,” Letho agreed.   
               “Grapeshot?”  
               “Grapeshot.” Letho reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bomb. He touched the fuse with the igni sign and tossed it into the cave, then he and Eskel hastily backed up. A few seconds later, the bomb exploded, blowing debris and dust out of the mouth of the cave, and moments later the cave collapsed with a rumble. Eskel’s sharp hearing picked up angry squeals and digging sounds from inside the collapsed cave.  
               “Here we go,” Letho grunted, raising his sword. Eskel’s medallion suddenly began to vibrate. The first nekker exploded from the ground behind him, but he had been expecting that. He whirled, kicking out with his heavy boot, and the nekker flew back several feet. Jumping forward, he brought his sword down in a brutal arc, chopping the monster in half. More angry squealing issued from the ground around him, and three more of the monsters erupted from the ground. Setting his jaw, Eskel let his body take over.  
               Several minutes later, Eskel turned from the last nekker near him in time to see Letho neatly skewer one on his blade. With an effortless flick, the big man tossed the dead creature aside.  
               “Nice trick,” Eskel said, trying not to pant. As Letho turned to respond, another larger nekker jumped from the ground close behind him. Eskel moved without thinking. His hand swung out and a sign crackled through the air. Letho sprang out of the way just in time as the sign shot by him, knocking the nekker flying. A second sign followed instantly after the first, hitting the monster in midair. Flames exploded around its body with such violence that it barely had time to screech before it was burned to a crisp. The blackened corpse struck the ground with a thump.  
               Letho turned to stare at Eskel, shock written all over his face. Instead of answering any unasked questions, Eskel pulled out his supply of empty jars and bottles and set to gathering potion ingredients from the corpses. After a moment of stunned silence, Letho began to do the same thing. When they had picked over each body, they pocketed the bottles and jars and headed back toward the lake. They didn’t encounter anything interesting or dangerous all the way back to the keep.  
               “So is that what you’ve been doing while you’re here?” Eskel asked, putting some of the nekker hearts and blood into the crate of potion ingredients he had found. “Keeping a handle on the monster population?”  
               “Yeah, that and exploring. I’ve done some repairs around the place too,” Letho replied. He sat down and began to clean his blade. After a moment, he paused and looked up.  
               “You gonna explain what happened back there?” he asked.   
               “What?” Eskel said vaguely, trying to determine the contents of an old, dusty jar he had pulled from the bottom of the crate.  
               “What happened with your signs,” Letho said, frowning.  
               “My signs…” Eskel repeated slowly, deciding that the jar held half of a very old cave troll liver. When he set it down, he realized what the other man was asking.  
               “Oh, uh, sometimes that happens when I haven’t used signs in combat in a while,” he said. “My control slips a little and the signs take more power from me than I intend them to.” Letho scratched his chin thoughtfully.  
               “I’ve never seen signs do anything quite like that, at least when used by a witcher,” he murmured. Eskel shrugged and sat to clean his own blade.   
               “Triss once mentioned that she thought I emanated a lot of magical power,” he said absently, wiping his blade with a cloth.   
               “Ah yes, Merigold,” Letho drawled, sheathing his sword. “Piece of work, that one.” The big man stood. “She bit me once, though not in a nice way at all.” He smirked and made his way toward the kitchen. Eskel scowled and continued to clean his sword, trying hard not to think about what it would be like to bite Letho in a nice way.

  
  
               As the days continued to go by, Eskel found himself feeling increasingly odd. He was moody and distracted, often resorting to drowning his confusion in booze. Letho made him jumpy. The man would appear suddenly out of nowhere when Eskel was least expecting it, and then disappear just as suddenly. More than once, Eskel caught Letho staring at him with a strange, intense expression on his face that made Eskel’s skin tingle. When he was alone, he continued to dwell on the gentle, intimate touch of Letho’s palm against his cheek. Some nights the feeling crept into his dreams.

 

               Eskel woke to sunlight streaming in through the window. He opened his eyes lazily and yawned, pulling the furs tighter around himself. Turning his head to stretch his neck a bit, he froze. Letho stood by the window, looking wistful and lonely as he stared out through the cracked panes of glass. The wiry muscles in his bare arms rippled as he reached up to rub his face, then he glanced over at Eskel. Eskel met his gaze for a moment, stunned by the painful ache that bloomed in his chest when he saw the unhappiness in Letho’s eyes. The urge to get up and go to comfort him gripped Eskel like an iron vice. He fought with himself for several long seconds, then swung his legs over the side of his cot and pushed himself to his feet. His heart began to beat a bit faster as he cautiously approached the big man.

               “Mornin’,” Letho murmured, still looking out the window.

               “Mhm,” Eskel replied. He took a breath, feeling a flush beginning to creep up his neck. “You alright?” he asked. Letho looked sideways at him, yellow eyes glowing in the sunlight.

               “I’m fine,” Letho grunted. “Just thinking. About the past, and other stuff. Y’know,” he said, smiling wryly, “The kind of things you might normally think about in the morning.” Eskel chuckled. Letho turned and reached out to brush some stray hair out of Eskel’s eyes, the gesture causing a soft warmth to spread through Eskel’s chest. “Don’t worry about me,” Letho murmured, his expression suddenly soft. “Maybe I just need breakfast.”

               “Breakfast is pretty important,” Eskel agreed, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “Let’s see if there’s anything edible in the kitchen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcanon that Eskel's magic is just more powerful and a bit strange sometimes


	5. Chapter 5

               Eskel was halfway through a wedge of cheese when he heard the doors to the inner courtyard open. He got swiftly to his feet and snatched up his swords from next to his cot. Letho appeared beside him, silently holding a finger up to his lips, and motioned that they should get behind the shelves nearest the front door. They moved quickly and quietly into position. A minute later, one of the front doors creaked as someone pushed it ajar. Soft footsteps entered the keep, along with a faint, familiar scent.  
               “Is anyone in here?” a low, smooth voice called.  
               “Who’s asking?” Eskel replied testily.  
               “Eskel? What the hell are you doing here? Where is Letho?”  
               “I’m here,” Letho growled. His voice was very close to Eskel’s ear. Eskel shivered.  
               “Well this is a happy reunion I wasn’t expecting,” Geralt of Rivia said, stepping out of the shadows. His golden, slit-pupiled eyes looked from Letho to Eskel as they moved out from behind the bookcases, then his stony face cracked into a wide grin. “It’s good to see you.” He walked forward and clasped Eskel’s hand, then pulled him into a hug. Letting go, he shook Letho’s hand as well.  
               “Tell me you’re alone and I’ll say the same,” Eskel said. Geralt snorted loudly and dropped one of his packs on the cot next to Eskel’s, then brought the other to the table.  
               “Do you think Yen would even consider coming back here?” he said with a laugh. “It’s too cold for her taste.”  
               “Thank god,” Eskel muttered. Geralt snorted again and pulled several loaves of bread and a few jars of jam out of the pack, setting them on the table.   
               “I brought gifts,” he said, setting three fancy-looking bottles next to the bread.  
               “Why didn’t you say so?” Eskel laughed. “We would’ve already had a place at the table set for you.”  
  
               “Cheers,” Geralt said, toasting the air with his tankard. Eskel and Letho echoed him, then drank deeply.  
               “How many cups does this make?” Eskel slurred, setting his mug down a little harder than necessary. Geralt peered into the bottle.  
               “Dunno. I think this one’s empty too,” Geralt mumbled, pushing it aside and reaching for the last bottle.  
               “Too bad Yen’s clothes aren’t here,” Eskel said, “We could call what’s-his-face again.” Geralt let out a bark of laughter.  
               “That dress was definitely a good look for you,” he gasped between hoots of mirth.   
               “What happened?” Letho asked curiously. Both Geralt and Eskel collapsed into helpless laughter, but they eventually managed to tell the story. By the end, Letho was laughing along with them.  
               “We should play that game again,” Geralt suggested. “There’s gotta be vodka around here somewhere.”  
               “I’ll get it,” Eskel said, getting unsteadily to his feet. He swayed, grabbing hold of one of Letho’s shoulders to steady himself, then wobbled into the kitchen to get the vodka. When he got back to the table with a bottle in hand, Geralt raised his mug and drained it. Letho followed suit and Eskel poured them each some of the liquor. Geralt pulled a bottle of White Gull from his pocket and added some to each mug, explaining the rules of the game to Letho while Eskel listened.   
               “I’ll start,” Geralt said. “I’ve never… uh… I’ve never fallen asleep on my horse.”   
               “Damn,” Eskel said, taking a drink. Geralt and Letho both laughed. “Oh, shut up,” he grumbled. “I was piss drunk.”  
               “Why were you drunk on a horse?” Geralt asked.  
               “Was for a dare,” Eskel muttered. “Anyway, my turn.” He thought for a moment. “I’ve never had a threesome.” Geralt and Letho both drank.   
               “Both of you?” Eskel groaned. “Is it worth it?” Geralt shrugged.  
               “Depends,” Letho replied, glancing sideways at Eskel with a wicked glint in his eye. “It can be fun to help a buddy make a pretty lady squeal. My turn. I’ve never taken drugs. Like magic mushrooms or fisstech.”  
               “For fuck’s sake,” Eskel swore, then took a drink. When he set his mug down, Geralt was grinning and Letho was looking at him curiously. “I slept with a succubus once, and we took fisstech together,” he explained. “That came up last time too.”   
               “Alright,” Geralt said, waving a lazy hand, “My turn again. I’ve never ploughed a girl in a temple, chapel, or church.” Eskel shrugged and turned in time to see Letho take a drink.  
               “Really?” Geralt asked, eyes wide. Letho smirked.  
               “She was the kind of wench who wanted to do anything to make her ma angry,” he said, “And screwing an ugly witcher in the local chapel seemed to work just fine.” Geralt chortled and Eskel let out a snort of laughter.  
               “Okay,” Eskel grinned, swirling the liquid in his cup, “I’ve never slept with a married woman.” Geralt drank. Letho raised his eyebrows.  
               “In my defense,” Geralt hiccupped, “She didn’t tell me until afterwards. It was a bit of a nasty surprise.”  
               “Did you jump out her window?” Eskel asked, remembering the last time they had played the drinking game.   
               “Nope. Left through the door, like a civilized man,” Geralt slurred, grinning cheerfully. Letho looked into his cup.  
               “I’ve never tried on woman’s knickers,” he said. Geralt drank. Eskel laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench.  
               “Yen made me once,” Geralt admitted, which caused Eskel to laugh harder. “Shut up! It’s my turn. I’ve never… slept with a man.” After a breath of tense silence, Letho lifted his mug and took a long drink, then set it down.   
               “No one has ever stuck around me long enough for that information to matter,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.  
               “No judgement, friend. Life is too short to be worried about who people are into,” Geralt replied with a shrug. “Honestly, I’ve considered it sometimes, just never found a guy I wanted badly enough. I’ve kissed a few guys before, though. Remember when we kissed that one time?” he asked Eskel. Eskel grinned.  
               “Yeah I remember, it was when we’d found a stash of Vesemir’s strongest vodka right? How old were we, fourteen? We’d gotten to talking about kissing and you said you wanted to know what it was like, then you just turned and kissed me,” he said with a chuckle. “You were terrible at it.”  
               “So were you!” Geralt said indignantly. He jumped to his feet, almost fell, then steadied himself. “Well, that aside, I really gotta piss, I’ll be back.” As soon as his footsteps receded Letho turned to look at Eskel.  
               “A succubus?” he asked, one eyebrow raised. Eskel shrugged.   
               “I had the opportunity, and I took it. I have a bit of a thing for women with horns,” he slurred, trying to focus on Letho’s face. “Succubus nothing. I would’ve never thought—”  
               “I’d be even remotely interested in men?” Letho finished the sentence for him. “Yeah, people usually say that if the topic comes up. Dunno why.” He shifted slightly and reached out to touch Eskel’s jaw. Eskel felt heat immediately rush to his face as Letho cupped his cheek once again, callused thumb running gently over his bottom lip. “They also say witchers are completely emotionless. I guess people just like to talk shit.” The big man leaned closer, his hand sliding back to cradle Eskel’s neck. Eskel could see tiny flecks of green in the other man’s eyes that he hadn’t previously noticed. Before Letho could move any closer, however, the sound of uneven footsteps approached. Letho drew back hastily, and he and Eskel watched as Geralt flopped into his cot and began to snore.  
               “That looks like a good idea,” Letho grunted, standing up. He walked over to his cot without a second glance at Eskel, who slowly stood and walked to his own cot. Sleep hit him before his head even reached the pillow.

 

               “Wake up, sleepyhead.” A hand slapped Eskel gently on his unscarred cheek. “There’s food and a hot drink to help the hangover.” Eskel moaned and opened one eye to glare blearily up into Geralt’s cheerful face.  
               “Fuck off,” he grunted, rolling over. Geralt was unperturbed by the rude rebuff. He leaned down to whisper in Eskel’s ear.  
               “If you don’t get up, I’ll tell Letho where you’re ticklish.”  
               “You wouldn’t dare,” Eskel’s growl was muffled in the fur bedding. “Not even Lambert knows that.” He rolled over again and sat up, scowling. “Living with Yen has made you meaner,” he complained, pulling on his shirt.  
               “Come join us in the kitchen when you’re done dawdling,” Geralt said merrily, and skipped out of punching distance before Eskel could consider taking a swing at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so things begin to heat up...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready!

               Geralt stuck around at Kaer Morhen for a few days, sparring and running with Eskel and helping with repairs. Having the other man around helped ease the strange tension that had formed between Eskel and Letho after the first night of Geralt’s visit. When they all ate together, Geralt kept up a steady stream of entertaining stories from his time on the Path and from his and Eskel’s teenage years.

  
               One evening, Letho had vanished again and Eskel and Geralt were sitting by the fire, drinking wine, and playing a game of Gwent. Geralt sat back and grinned, gesturing to his cards.  
               “Looks like I win again,” he said. “Pay up.” Eskel sighed, flicked him a coin, and started picking up his own cards.  
               “I’ve never been a great hand at Gwent,” Eskel grumbled. “I don’t know why I still bet anything when I play, especially against you.”  
               “It’s more fun with something at stake, even if it’s only a crown or two,” Geralt replied with a self-satisfied smile, shuffling his deck. Eskel put his cards away and picked up his tankard.  
               “Hey, I know it’s unrelated, and not really my business, but…” Eskel hesitated briefly, took a sip of his wine, then continued. “Well, I’ve been kinda wondering what you know about the regicides in ’71. You were there for the whole thing, right?” Geralt frowned, staring down at his cards.  
               “I was around,” Geralt said distantly. “What part are you asking about?” Eskel shook his head.  
               “I don’t wanna know about the actual events, I just… I’ve been thinking about Letho a bit… I mean, you fought him, right? And talked to him? Do you have any idea why he… you know… did what he did?” Geralt inclined his head.   
               “He’s not the kind of person to do something like that without having a real reason,” Geralt said. “Actually, he’s damn honorable, for a man who committed regicide. I fought him once, and he kicked my ass, but left me alive. I didn’t fight him when we met in Loc Muinne, though. We talked for a while, he told me everything that had happened, then we parted ways.” Geralt looked up and met Eskel’s eyes. “He was hired by Emhyr var Emreis.”  
               “The emperor?” Eskel asked, shocked. Geralt nodded and took a drink.  
               “The emperor’s forces captured him and a few others, and eventually the emperor himself offered Letho a deal. If Letho and his allies created pandemonium in the North by killing as many rulers as they could, the emperor would rebuild the school of the Viper.” Geralt stared down at his hands, still holding his Gwent deck. “The school had been falling apart, figuratively and literally, for many years. Letho told me that he just wanted his estranged comrades to be able to go home to a place where they would be welcome and safe.” He sighed deeply. “If I had been in the same situation, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to turn down that kind of promised reward either. Also, knowing Emhyr, the only other option besides the deal was probably a nasty death. He didn’t keep to his word about rebuilding the school of the Viper, of course, and once he realized that Letho was an unwanted witness to the whole thing, he sent his men to tie up any loose ends.”  
               Eskel rubbed his hands over his face.  
               “So, he did have an actual reason to do what he did,” Eskel muttered. Geralt nodded.  
               “He did. He’s incredibly rational and intelligent, despite how he looks. In fact, he’s proved himself to be a brutal, tactical genius. Crafty and ruthless, too, when need be, but he’s never struck me as someone who’s inclined toward violence against people purely for the sake of violence. He never would’ve done all those things just for kicks. He’s always seemed like someone who just wants to be left alone to do his own thing, however, if set to a task, forced or not, he invariably is completely precise and thorough. If he wants something done, he does it, and does it well,” Geralt gave a wry smile and drank from his tankard. “Though with all that said, he’s quite different from the Kingslayer I remember. I don’t really know why, but he’s changed a lot over the past few years, especially in the time he’s been staying here. I’d never seen him really smile before, let alone laugh, until we were almost finished with the first bottle of wine the night I arrived, and you told that awful joke about the sailor and the sirens. I saw him stop to whistle to a bird sitting on the wall the next day, and I swear I caught him daydreaming while darning a pair of socks that evening. I even heard him humming as he made breakfast yesterday.”  
               “Something about him is definitely different,” Eskel agreed, feeling his cheeks begin to flush. “You don’t even know the half of it.” Geralt gave him a long, searching look, then shrugged.  
               “Well, about the whole regicide business… we’ve all done some terrible things in our past,” the man said, reaching for his wine with a vacant look in his eyes. “At least, I know I have. We can’t go back and change anything, though. Sometimes, all you can do is accept that and move forward.” Eskel touched the scars that ran down his cheek, and something tight in his chest began to unwind.  
               “Do you really think it’s okay to accept and move on from something like regicide?” Eskel asked quietly. Geralt emptied his tankard and surveyed Eskel’s expression.  
               “I guess that’s for you to figure out,” he said. “I have no quarrel with Letho now, especially since the war has ended relatively peacefully. I never had a personal problem with him anyway, just problems related to work and politics, and now that I’m not bothered with either, I might really start to like him.” After a moment, Eskel straightened, feeling like an invisible blanket had lifted from his shoulders.

               “I’ll definitely think on it,” he said, then took a long drink. Geralt grinned wolfishly at him. “Kingslayer aside, if you want to meet someone who has a _really_ dark past but has fully reformed himself,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying a private joke, “I could introduce you to my friend Regis.”

               “I may have to pass on that offer,” Eskel said, rolling his eyes. “I think that one complicated friend with a dark past is enough for me.”

               “Too bad,” Geralt said, still grinning. “He’s really a nice guy.” Eskel tipped up his mug and drank, then set it down.

               “Thanks for answering my questions, and for telling me all this,” he said, ignoring Geralt’s comment.  
               “No problem,” Geralt replied. He poured himself more wine. “Glad I could help. Now lighten up, and let’s have another drink. After all, tonight is my last night here.”  
               “What? You’re leaving so soon?” Eskel held his tankard out for a refill.  
               “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m planning on heading out tomorrow. I promised Yen I wouldn’t be gone too long and I refused to let her pick me up with a portal.”  
               “She keeps you on too tight of a leash,” Eskel complained. “It’s been fun to have you here.” Geralt’s smile changed slightly, and Eskel saw something sweet creep into his expression.  
               “I’ve had fun hanging out with you guys too, but I miss my woman. Maybe I’ll come back and visit again next winter, if the urge hits.” He stood and stretched, then yanked Eskel into a tight hug. “It is good to see you.” Eskel returned the hug affectionately.  
               “It really is, old friend. Travel safely.”

  
               Eskel stood on the outer wall and watched Geralt ride away. The early morning light made the man’s silvery white hair glow in contrast to his dark leather armor. Eskel watched Geralt’s weaving path until he disappeared, then turned his face upwards to look at the sky. He inhaled deeply, testing the air, and a faint smell carried on the wind made him close his eyes and sniff again. Soft footsteps approached him.  
               “You smell it too?” Letho asked quietly. Eskel inhaled once more, finding a barely present warm note mixed in with the usual winter scents.  
               “The thaw is coming earlier than usual,” Eskel answered slowly. “I can smell spring, and it’s only mid-February.”   
               “I suppose that means you’ll be leaving soon too,” Letho said, facing into the wind.  
               “Yeah, probably in the next few days. The Path calls,” Eskel replied, turning to look at the other man with a wry half smile. His breath hitched in his chest as Letho spun suddenly and took a step toward him, a wild look in his yellow, slit-pupiled eyes. The big man was only an inch or two taller than him, but he felt almost small as he looked up into the strange gaze. Letho reached out as if to touch Eskel’s cheek but hesitated uncertainly. When Eskel made no move to back up or stop him, he took another step forward and cupped Eskel’s face in both hands. His palms were startlingly warm. He seemed to be looking over every inch of Eskel’s skin, scarred and clear, and Eskel felt himself blushing furiously under the touch and the intense stare.  
               “What are you doing?” Eskel croaked, finding that his throat had gone dry. Letho didn’t answer, instead running careful fingertips down the scars next to Eskel’s eyebrow, tracing them to where they cut into his lip. He shivered. Letho brushed the bangs back from Eskel’s forehead, running callused fingers through the dark hair until his hand came to rest on the nape of the other man’s neck. He looked into Eskel’s eyes then leaned forward, hesitating again when his mouth was merely a hair’s breadth from Eskel’s. Unable to resist any longer, Eskel gave into the burning heat in his stomach and closed the distance to press his lips against Letho’s stunned ones. Letho inhaled sharply, then pulled the other man against his body, slowly deepening the kiss. His mouth was surprisingly soft and gentle. A moment later, Letho drew back to look into Eskel’s eyes once more.  
               “This really is okay with you?” he asked, voice husky and deep. Eskel snorted with giddy amusement and clasped his hands behind Letho’s shaved head.  
               “I would’ve already punched you in the nose if it wasn’t,” he rasped. “In fact, I think I’ve been waiting for this to happen for a while now.” The corners of Letho’s mouth twitched.  
               “Cheeky,” he murmured, then leaned down to plant a stubbly kiss on Eskel’s exposed collarbone. “Well, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. You should’ve said something.” Eskel blushed a deeper shade of red as Letho kissed along his collarbone and up the side of his neck.  
               “I was embarrassed… and I wasn’t sure whether or not… you’d react badly… if I mentioned anything— Gods, stop, that tickles!” Letho nuzzled against Eskel’s neck for another few seconds before pausing.  
               “Do you really want me to stop?” he murmured against the sensitive skin under Eskel’s jaw. Eskel shivered and suppressed a moan, his fingers digging into Letho’s shoulders.   
               “No,” he whispered, “Yes. Maybe. I want… I want you to kiss me again.” Letho chuckled and obliged with enthusiasm. They broke apart a while later, both flushed and breathless.  
               “Are you really sure about this? I still am the Kingslayer, you know.” Worry creased Letho’s forehead as he spoke. Eskel reached up to smooth the wrinkles away with a small smile.  
               “I know,” Eskel said. “But Geralt told me the whole story, including your side.”  
               “Geralt of fucking Rivia,” Letho sighed. “So, it doesn’t bother you?” Eskel unconsciously rubbed the scars on his chin.  
               “Well I don’t love the title or the fact that you earned it, but I’ve done some awful shit in my time, too,” he said quietly, looking up into the sky. “Just because it wasn’t on a large, political scale doesn’t mean that it didn’t affect and destroy innocent lives. I still think people, you and I included, often deserve a second chance.” Letho snaked an arm around his waist. “Plus, you’ve saved my life, and according to Geralt, you may have saved his too. At this point, I think we owe you a second chance at the very least.” Letho hugged him closer.  
               “You don’t owe me a thing. I’ll save you again anytime, for free,” the big man whispered in his ear, and Eskel chuckled in spite of himself. He turned to meet Letho’s gaze.  
               “Your eyes are extraordinary,” Letho said, stroking Eskel’s cheek.   
               “What do you mean? They’re pretty standard for a witcher,” Eskel responded, caught off guard. Letho chuckled.  
               “Not the pupils. Actually, I’ve never seen another witcher with eyes like yours. They’re a stunning, warm amber color, and there are beautiful gold and copper flecks in the amber that shine when they catch the light.”  
               “Now you’re just teasing me,” Eskel said, frowning.  
               “’M not.” Letho kissed him slowly and sweetly. “I swear.”  
               “Okay, okay, I believe you,” Eskel laughed, pulling away. He looked up at the other man. “What now?  
               Straightening, Letho turned to look out over the wall once more, one hand still around Eskel’s waist.  
               “Maybe I’ll set out on the Path again,” he said. “I’ve been lying low for a while, and the emperor thinks I’m dead anyway. I haven’t been far from Kaer Morhen since the battle four years ago. If I go west and stay away from Vizima I should be fine.”  
               “Didn’t anyone tell you?” Eskel asked, absently hooking his fingers under Letho’s belt. “The emperor died a few months ago. Word was that he died suddenly of natural causes. Since Ciri is off roaming as a witcher, I don’t actually know what the state of rule in Nilfgaard is at the moment.” Letho stiffened, then scratched his chin.  
               “I haven’t seen anyone but you in the past few years. Well, that does change things a little,” he said thoughtfully. “I’m sure I’ll have time to think about things if I go back on the Path.” He looked at Eskel, a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. “Plus, this place gets boring without company.” Tugging Eskel toward him again, Letho placed yet another kiss on his ticklish neck. “In the meantime, we have a few days to relax before we head out again, and now that Geralt is gone, we have the keep to ourselves.”

  
  
               Three days later, Eskel and Letho rode up to a fork in the road. One way led west, the other south. The two witchers stopped their horses and twisted in their saddles to look at each other.  
               “I guess this is goodbye for now,” Eskel said, a knot of sadness tightening in his chest. “I’m gonna miss you.” He blushed faintly, still a bit embarrassed by the new tenderness between them. Letho smiled, the gold hoop in his ear flashing in the morning sun.  
               “I’ll miss you too.” He nudged his horse sideways and took Eskel’s hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll see each other again. If not somewhere on the Path, then come back to Kaer Morhen when winter rolls around again. I’ll be waiting for you there.” They leaned toward each other, kissed gently, and separated.  
               “Until then,” Eskel said.  
               “Until then,” Letho echoed. The two men turned and set off along their chosen road, Eskel riding south and Letho riding west. As the sun warmed Eskel’s unmarred cheek, the faint scent of spring reached him, borne on the wind. He breathed deeply, inhaling the still-chilly air, then spurred his mount forward. _‘Until then.’_

 

 

 

 

 

 

               

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing and editing this chapter :D
> 
> There's a lot of stuff here that need a small explanation. Firstly, everything I wrote about Letho's past/history in this chapter is from articles I found online and from watching his conversation with Geralt at the end of TW2, so there may be some inaccuracies or canon divergence there, but hopefully not much. Also, I've never read the books so the mention of Regis is referencing the TW3 Blood and Wine expansion. Finally, Eskel's eyes are brown/amber in canon, and I headcanon that Letho's eyes are a more snake-like yellow with bits of green.
> 
> There's still a bit more left to this, and it'll be on here soon


	7. Chapter 7

               _‘Gods, not again…’_ Eskel let the tavern door swing shut behind him and almost groaned. He had only arrived that morning, but he’d thought there had been more excitement in the air than usual. The room was packed to bursting point with drunk men and women. Eskel grabbed a passing man by the arm. The man began to protest but stopped immediately when he saw Eskel’s face.  
               “What’s the occasion?” Eskel shouted over the noise.  
               “What rock have ye been hidin’ under, stranger?” the man bawled. “It’s Belleteyn!”  
               “That’s what I was afraid of. Alright, thanks,” Eskel said, passing the man a few coins. “Have a drink, on me.”  
               “Thank ye kindly, master witcher!” the man yelled, and disappeared into the crowd. Eskel made his way to the counter with a sad, sinking feeling in his stomach and ordered two shots. He paid, downed the shots, and left the tavern. The streets were crowded with boisterous merrymakers.  
               “This is worse than last year,” Eskel grumbled, shoving his way down the street. He noticed a tall, thin man with faintly pointed ears giving out flower adornments on a street corner. When Eskel tried to pass him, the man dropped a flower crown onto his head.   
               “Even those of us for whom fertility is not a part of life can still enjoy the festival,” he said in a high, musical voice. “Try the beer down the street from here, vatt'ghern, it’s quite good.” Eskel nodded to him and decided to follow his advice. Beer in hand, Eskel wandered toward the center of the city, where he could see two columns of smoke and sparks rising into the sky.  
               By the time he had pushed his way through the crowded streets and reached the central square, the bonfires had died down enough for couples to start jumping over the embers. Eskel nursed a second tankard of beer and watched as three pairs of young men and women leapt over the coals. His attention began to drift after the seventh couple. He found himself surveying the people he could see across the fire from where he stood. Most of them were human, but Eskel could see a few elves and dwarves scattered throughout the crowd. He watched a short, chubby woman whisper into the ear of the man next to her, and the two disappeared. Smiling wryly, Eskel emptied his tankard.  
               When he looked up again, a broad-shouldered man in dark, hooded cloak had taken the first man and woman’s vacated spot in the circle. Eskel’s stomach jolted. The man’s face was half hidden by his hood, but the dim light from the coals illuminated a thick, stubbly jaw, a scarred chin, a grimly-set mouth, and the end of a blunt nose. Gold winked in the man’s right earlobe. Eskel dropped his tankard with a clunk that went completely unnoticed by the people around him. Without thinking, he turned and dove into the crowd, ducking and weaving toward the other side of the large circle, but when he reached the place where the cloaked man had been standing, he was gone.  
               _‘Was it just my imagination?’_ he thought wistfully, glancing left and right along the circle’s edge.  
               “Looking for someone?” A deep voice growled close to his ear. Not daring to believe it, Eskel slowly turned around and looked up into a pair of yellow, slit-pupiled eyes.  
               “Why the hell are you here? Have you been following me?” Eskel asked, shock making him irritable. Letho of Gulet chuckled and reached out to stroke callused fingers gently over Eskel’s scarred cheek.  
               “Not even a hello?” he murmured, hand moving to slide down the side of Eskel’s neck. Eskel snorted and grabbed Letho’s wrist, towing him through the crowd. He dragged the other man into a quiet alley and pushed him down onto a large, sturdy crate. Letho sat, looking bemused.  
               “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since we parted ways at Kaer Morhen, not for one day, and then you just show up—” Eskel stared at him, breathing hard for a moment, then grabbed his collar and kissed him hard. Letho responded eagerly, clumsily trying to pull Eskel onto his lap, and he managed to get one leg up before Eskel broke off and began to laugh.  
               “C’mon,” Letho said, grabbing Eskel’s ass and lifting him properly onto his leather-clad thighs. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head either,” he growled, and nuzzled against Eskel’s neck. “I’ve been thinking about all the things I want to do to you.” The heat in Eskel’s stomach spread through his entire body, and he gasped quietly, then Letho turned his face up and their lips met once more. A few minutes later they broke apart, panting slightly, and Letho ran his fingers over Eskel’s cheek.  
               “It is Belleteyn,” Eskel said breathlessly. “What do you say we take this somewhere a little more private? I have a room at a decent inn nearby.” Letho lifted him up, stood, kissed him gently, and set him down.  
               “After you.”

  
               “So why are you here?” Eskel asked, pulling on his shirt. “Were you actually tracking me?” Letho chuckled.  
               “Nah,” he said, buttoning his pants, “I was riding south from Hengfors when I heard talk of a witcher in the area, and I was curious to see who it was. I never guessed it would be you.” He sat on the bed and began to put on his boots. Beams of dusty sunlight streamed through the nearby window.  
               “Hold still for a minute,” Eskel said, taking his flower crown from where it hung on one of the bed posts. He placed it on Letho’s shaved head, and the man looked up. Eskel burst out laughing.  
               “I wondered what you’d look like in one of those at a Belleteyn celebration last year,” Eskel confessed after catching his breath. He surveyed the surly expression on Letho’s face, still grinning, then leaned down to kiss him softly. “It’s better than I could’ve ever imagined.”

  
  
               The two men rode out of the city’s east gate a few hours later. When they came to a fork in the road, they stopped.  
               “Where are you headed now?” Eskel asked, keeping his tone casual. Letho looked at him and blinked, yellow eyes thoughtful.  
               “I was wondering whether you’d possibly want some company wherever you’re going,” he said slowly. Eskel felt a warm fondness glow inside his chest at the words.  
               “That sounds good to me,” he said, grinning at the other man. “Unless you want to visit Velen or the Skellige Isles, I was planning on heading south to the Pontar and then—” He was interrupted by a scream echoing down the road. A woman ran toward them, crying and wringing her hands.  
               “Oh, thank the gods! Please, it’s my husband, I just saw a monster drag him into the woods! Please help, I’ll pay you, I’ll do anything!” she sobbed. Eskel and Letho shared a look, then Eskel shifted in his saddle and leaned toward the woman.  
               “Witchers aren’t cheap these days, and there are two of us,” he said patiently. The woman looked up at him, her tear-stained face pale. She mouthed for a moment, then gulped.  
               “I have some coin, and an old ring that belonged to my grandmother,” she whispered. “It should fetch a decent price. Now please, help my husband!”   
               “Give us a direction, woman,” Letho growled. She pointed down the road, looking even more frightened than before.  
               “Turn north when you reach the village,” she whispered. Eskel reached down and grabbed her arm.  
               “Hurry up and climb on, and we can give you a ride,” he said, and the woman clambered frantically up behind him. “Hold on.” The two witchers kicked their horses into a gallop, heading east.  
  
               The supposed monster turned out to be a very large, very ugly old bear. Eskel and Letho managed to snatch the woman’s husband away from the beast, and Letho patched him up while Eskel dealt with the bear. They brought the wounded man back to his tearful wife, collected their reward, and rode south.

               Nighttime found the two witchers setting up camp in a small field. Letho set up the tent and started a fire while Eskel wandered around the woods near the field, clearing out a pack of wolves and another bear. Once he was sure that there was nothing dangerous left in the area, he returned to the camp.   
               After they had finished eating, Eskel crawled sleepily into the tent and curled up on the bedroll. Letho followed a moment later and flopped down next to him. They looked at each other for a moment, then Letho stretched out his arm.  
               “C’mere,” he murmured, and Eskel scooted over, allowing the other man to pull him close.  
               “I’m glad you’re here,” Eskel whispered, reaching up to trace Letho’s jaw. Letho leaned into the touch, closing his eyes, then took Eskel’s fingers and kissed them.  
               “I’m glad too,” he said softly, turning to gaze into Eskel’s face. “I’ve spent a lot of lonely nights on the road and in Kaer Morhen, especially when you weren’t there.” The fondness in the big man’s eyes warmed Eskel to the tips of his toes. He leaned down to kiss Eskel lightly.  
               “Let’s get some rest,” Letho said, lying back and pulling Eskel snugly against him. Eskel nestled into the other man’s warmth and closed his eyes, letting himself drift to sleep.

  
  
               A stubbly kiss on his forehead brought Eskel to consciousness as sturdy arms drew him tighter against a warm, solid body. He blinked, then looked up into Letho’s smiling eyes.  
               “Mornin’, sunshine,” Letho murmured, kissing Eskel’s forehead again, then his nose, then his mouth. Eskel sighed happily and surrendered himself to the affection.  
               “I could get used to waking up like this,” Eskel said when they came up for air. Letho smiled.   
               “And I could get used to waking you up like this,” he replied with a final kiss. Carefully pulling his arm out from underneath Eskel’s head, Letho sat up and stretched. “The Path awaits.” He made to get to his feet, but Eskel grabbed his hand to stop him.  
               “We don’t have to get up immediately, do we?” Eskel asked, voice husky and low. A slow, wicked smile spread across Letho’s face.  
               “I suppose we don’t have anywhere to be,” he said, letting Eskel tug him back down onto the bedroll. They tussled for a minute, playfully trying to pin the other down. Letho managed to seize Eskel’s wrists in one fist, but Eskel slipped from the hold and shoved him over, grappling madly for the upper hand. The scrap ended with Eskel sitting astride the bigger man, laughing helplessly as Letho pretended to struggle.  
               Letho’s hands crept up to hold Eskel’s hips, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt. Eskel grinned and leaned down to press his lips against Letho’s, the big man responded with enthusiasm, and the two men tangled themselves together, blissfully losing track of time.  
  
               Eskel hauled himself onto his horse with a grunt. Straightening in the saddle, he glanced up in time to see a small flock of birds burst from a tree on the forest’s edge and disappear into the sky. Letho rode up beside him, golden earring flashing in the sun.  
               “Should we set out, then?” Letho asked. Eskel turned to him and they shared a smile.  
               “Yeah. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! I love these two they're sweet and good and it's so satisfying to give them a happy ending when they don't really get one in the game... they deserve happiness. Only the epilogue now...
> 
> ALso! Dravenxivuk on tumblr has actually put these two in flower crowns (part of my inspiration) go check them out :D


	8. Chapter 8

_Epilogue_

 

               “Gods, it’s freezing!” Eskel complained, urging his horse to move a bit faster. “We’re lighting every brazier in the keep as soon as we get there.”  
               “Or I could just warm you up,” Letho said with a wicked smile. Eskel grinned.  
               “I might take you up on that,” he replied. Momentarily distracted, he rubbed a careful finger over the hoop in his ear. “You never warned me that having an earring will freeze your earlobe in the winter.” Letho touched his own matching gold hoop and smiled.

               “I forget about that every spring. And we were pretty drunk when you said you wanted to pierce your ear so we could match, I must’ve forgotten to explain everything about it properly.”

               “I remember,” Eskel laughed. “You actually forgot because right after I told you, you shoved me down onto the bed and—”

               “And I told you that you were adorable and that I was gonna plough you a hundred different ways before the sun rose, then you said, ‘Well, come on, we only have a few hours,’ and started ripping off my shirt.”

               “That was such a good night, too,” Eskel said with a happy sigh. Letho chuckled.

               “It was. The innkeeper wasn’t very happy with us the next day though, since we ripped the sheets, tore the curtains… and broke the bed frame. Anyway, you’ll get used to the cold earlobe, love.”

               “And I suppose even if I don’t, it’s worth it,” Eskel murmured.

               The snow began to fall even harder as they rode on. When they reached the entrance to Kaer Morhen, Eskel pulled his horse to a sudden stop, staring at the open gate.  
               “Wasn’t this gate shut when we left last year?” he asked. Letho nodded, a crease between his eyebrows.  
               “No monster would take the time to open it,” Letho said. “If someone’s here, we should see who it is.” They rode inside, stabled their horses, and headed toward the keep. Eskel hesitated with his hand on one of the front doors.  
               “I have a bad feeling about this,” he muttered, then pushed.  
               “Do you feel a draft?” a woman’s voice asked. Eskel walked into the main room, then promptly wished he hadn’t. A dark-haired, shirtless man lay on a pile of furs in the middle of the floor, straddled by a beautiful woman. While the man still wore pants, the woman was completely naked, pale skin glowing in the dim light. Both people turned at the sound of footsteps.  
               “Well, this is awkward,” Eskel said.  
               “What the FUCK are YOU doing here?” Lambert snapped, shock and irritation written all across his face. Keira quickly stood and moved her fingers in a strange pattern that made her clothes appear out of thin air. Lambert scrambled to his feet.  
               “I could ask you the same damn thing, asshole,” Eskel replied coolly. “It’s been years since we last saw each other, and this is the greeting I get? Though I suppose it is fitting,” he mused. Letho walked up behind him, placing a warm hand on the small of his back. Lambert’s eyes widened in astonishment.  
               “What are you doing with HIM?” he shouted. Eskel turned to Letho with a grimace.   
               “We’d better find the vodka. You have no idea how much booze it’s gonna take to explain everything,” Eskel told his lover, then he looked back at Lambert. “Prepare your liver, old friend. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This was so much fun to write :) if the urge strikes again maybe I'll write more on these two, but for now, I think I'll leave them to their well-deserved happy ending <3


End file.
